


In The Time Of Angels

by DelgadoAinley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Fights, Angel Wings, Archangels, Bottom Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Its a Thing, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelgadoAinley/pseuds/DelgadoAinley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam and Castiel are on the hunt for a rogue angel causing havoc in New Orleans.Not just any rogue angel either, but a rogue Archangel with a hatred for Castiel's love for humanity (Dean!) Heaven doesn't seem to care, Dean can't stand seeing Castiel in pain and its making him realise what has only ever been eyes-across-the-room and late at night thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel Radio On Stereo

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! Thanks for reading. 
> 
> My first Supernatural fic, I normally write Hannibal and Doctor Who, but the Destiel has me obsessed. Slow burn because I like torturing myself with these two. I don't own Dean or Cas. I would like to, but I don't. Dammit. Expect this to just grow and become gargantuan because I have no control over the Destiel.

The Church was the second most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. The first most beautiful was the angel currently stood before the altar, his hands folded in front of him, his head bowed and a low voice, almost too low for human ears, speaking in Enochian. 

 

The marble altar in front of Castiel was overlaid with gold, glittering gently underneath the lights. The symbols of faith were arranged neatly on the pale marble, the wine inside the Cup glowing a deep red. Behind the altar was an immense Cross, hanging at least 7 feet in the air. Even Sammy's head came nowhere near the foot of the Cross. Draped emerald and crimson velvet decorated the walls around the altar, before leading down to a red velvet carpet leading down the aisle, where Dean was currently standing. Either side of him were mahogany pews, the smell of too much furniture polish and candle wax rising to his nostrils. Sammy was somewhere at the back, hunkered down in one of the pews with books strewn around him, hunting down the answer to their latest problem: a rogue angel. Well, more rogue than their own rogue, currently not being very rogue at all. 

 

Castiel's eyes were closed, the brilliant baby blue gaze closed off from the world, lost in his own private thoughts and prayers. Dean leant against one of the pews, accidentally knocking a Bible off the edge. It clattered to the floor. "Sorry" he hissed, before directing his gaze upwards, "Sorry." Castiel's lips curved in a gentle smile as he listened to Dean apologise to the Lord for knocking a Bible over. He settled back into the comforting glow in the Church, entwining itself with his grace. Castiel sank to his knees gracefully, eyes still closed, palms outstretched on his knee caps, the Enochian sounding familiar and safe in this place. He could pick out Dean's movements behind him, the hunter moving with a kind of lethal grace. Dean was resting against the side of a pew, his long legs thrown over the top. Castiel knew he'd be resting his head in his hands, most likely looking around at the ornate decorations. His focus on the peace inside the Church lurched as he considered his next thought; the longing to have those light emerald eyes looking at him, rather than the gold and velvet surrounding them. 

 

Dean hooked his legs over the edge of the pew and rested his head in his hands, his gaze focused firmly on the angel in front of him. His dark hair stood out like onyx against the opulent colours around him, the trenchcoat pale against the rich velvet. A contented peace radiated from Castiel as he prayed, making Dean shift just a little closer along the pew to him. Most of the angels they'd met were self righteous fothermuckers but there was something about this angel, his angel, that made him crave being in his presence. It wasn't just their profound bond, hell, Dean had a profound bond with pie and he sure as heck didn't crave pie's presence. Maybe a little. Right now some pie would go down a treat. Apple pie, steamin' hot with icecream...

 

"Dean, do you mind?" Sam looked over the top of the ancient book he was holding, wrinkling his nose at the dust resting on the pages. "Cas is trying to pray, man, have some manners." Dean hadn't realised he was speaking aloud and a crimson flush rushed his cheeks as he wondered exactly how much of that train of thought had been spoken out loud. 

 

"Hey, pie is a holy thing Sammy, cut me some slack," Dean quipped, making a distinctly unholy guesture from the pew. Sam rolled his eyes, then pointed a finger at Castiel, then to his own lips. 

 

"Ssssh."

 

Dean gave an overexaggerated gesture of zipping up his lips, finishing off with a flourish before settling back in against the pew. He considered his boots for a moment before his gaze slid once again to the kneeling angel. Castiel's eyes were still closed. Dean hated that. He hated not being able to see the brilliant blue of his eyes, to look around and catch the gaze wherever he was. Catching the angel's gaze felt like holding fire in his hands and sometimes, when the angel was distracted, which was a lot, Dean would watch him intently, committing every nuance of his hands and crinkle around his eyes to memory, for the times when Cas was looking at him. Those times, Dean couldn't remember his own name, let alone the way Castiel's hands were large and graceful, hands that would easily span his own bicep, easily lift him, easily grip his hips. Dean coughed, looking away from Castiel suddenly, focusing on the statues of icons around the walls. He bounced down from the pew and made his way to stand in front of a particularly busty statue. 

 

Castiel felt him move, saw Dean behind his closed eyes like a bright ball of light swaggering across the room, if light was prone to swaggering. Dean shone to him, whether Castiel's eyes were open or not. The swagger stopped and Cas felt him turn, felt the suggestion of emerald upon his own form. Castiel frowned, clenching his hands into fists. It was nothing more than his own imagination, starved for thousands of years, gorging itself on Dean Winchester. Dean was no more looking at him than he had his head in a book. 

 

Dean's sure footsteps padded his way and he heard, rather than felt this time, Dean crouch down next to him. Heard the soft rustle of his jeans, the thud of his boots hitting the floor and what could only be described as an almost silent swallow next to him. Dean made no further noise other than his breathing. It sounded a little faster than the rate Castiel counted as familiar as his own thoughts. Imagination again, he reprimanded himself, reaching for the grace and peace that resided in this place. 

 

The only trouble was, his own peace was sat right next to him. 

 

Castiel opened his eyes, casting a sideways glance at Dean. He jerked his gaze away instantly, cheeks colouring. Dean was looking at him, had been looking at him. Dean had shifted his gaze too, apparently examining the velvet steps up to the altar with intense interest. Castiel took a long, stolen look at the handsome face in profile, angelic in the true definition of the word, an aquiline nose and full, perfect lips. The perfect lips moved and spoke, startling Castiel. "You gonna look at me all day, angel?" Deans voice was deeper than usual, thicker. 

 

Castiel swallowed, "You were looking at me, Dean." 

 

It was Dean's turn to swallow as the piercing blue focused in on him, the vague confusion that coated Cas's eyes with an adorable innocence burning away as Dean met his gaze. They were clear and crystal, intense. As if all Dean's secrets were known, laid bare. And accepted. He kept Castiel's gaze, feeling a low dip in his stomach, something like falling. Words came out of his mouth without thinking, which wasn't a new thing for Dean, but these were softer than his usual. 

 

"What's it like, Cas?"

 

"Looking at you?" Cas asked, his lips twitching. Dean felt a sudden urge to reach out and trace the twitch with his lips. 

 

Dean said nothing to that remark and Castiel's dark brows furrowed. The persona Dean Winchester played would be smug about that comment, accept that adoration of his beauty was a given. Only Sammy, Bobby and Castiel knew the persona underneath; the one that would never quite match up to the shadow of his father, the one desperately uncomfortable of adoration, because he felt so undeserving of it. 

 

"Meant, what's it like for you being in a Church? Do you pick up angel radio in stereo?" Dean commented. They could hear the noise of Sam rustling through books behind them, occasionally sneezing as dust hit him in the face from their ancient pages. 

 

"It doesn't come on a stereo," Castiel said, confused. 

 

Dean snorted with laughter, his bottom lip curling, as it always did when he was trying to hide the fact he was laughing at Cas from Cas. "Are your brothers and sisters stronger in here?"

 

"We are Heavenly beings, Dean. We are infinitely strong."

 

Dean swallowed briefly, his eyes flickering away from Cas, then back again. They rested on the brilliant blue and he smiled without thinking. "Are you being deliberately pig headed?"

 

This time Castiel was genuinely confused. He stood, walking the few short steps up to the altar, giving it a neat bow of his head in respect and then leaning over to look into the shining silver baptismal font. Dean stood too, resting against the foremost pew and arching dark blonde eyebrows. Castiel touched his face, then the reflection in the font, before screwing said face up and looking at Dean. "My face doesn't resemble a pig."

 

Dean glanced away quickly before Cas could read the laughter in his eyes and tried to swallow it. He choked instead, erupting into laughter in the silence of the Church. Behind him, Sam was laughing too. The younger Winchester brushed past his brother, showing his phone to Cas. On the screen was a street slang definition of "pig headed: stubborn." 

 

Sam gave him an apologetic smile. "It's a saying, Cas. Your face is fine. Dean's just being an ass."

 

Cas drew his hands away from his face. "That's not very nice Dean."

 

Dean took a swig from his hip flask to stop laughing, his eyes dancing. The whisky burnt at the back of his throat before he said, "What are you gonna do about it, huh?" Castiel's eyes burnt flaming bright for a moment, before he closed his eyes quickly and looked away from Dean and Sam. Interested, Dean moved closer, the heated flare of Castiel's eyes drawing him like a half price sale on Impala parts. When Castiel spoke again, it was with a huskier tone that sucked the air from Dean's chest. 

 

"In answer to your question, it is not my brothers and sisters I hear here. It is like a...like a comfort. Like a hug," Castiel answered, using the closest reference he knew. 

 

Sam nodded, ignoring his brother, who seemed to have lost the power of speech. Castiel's eyes were on Dean, his lips twitching minutely, before he pulled the shining blue ones back to Sam. "Like humans find comfort in coming here. I do," he admitted. 

 

Castiel gave him a warm, genuine smile, "You are never alone. Not while I am here," he offered. A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder, curling into the epilette of his trenchcoat, the thumb, out of Sam's sight, rubbing over the top of his shoulderblade. 

 

"Keep the whole world safe, hey Cas?"

 

"My wish is to keep you two safe," Castiel said simply, " And to save the world if I can." 

 

The thumb rubbing over the top of his shoulderblade clenched, along with the rest of the hand, tight over his shoulder, fiercely. He could hear what sounded like a ragged breath from Dean, almost silent. Castiel stayed exactly where he was, the pulse in his vessel skidding and jumping so hard that Dean must have been able to feel it through the trenchcoat. 

 

A piercing pain, like an angel blade through his ribs, slid behind his eyes, through his brain. His eyes closed involuntarily at the pain, then opened again, managing to cry out a warning before his grace illuminated the Church with blue flame. He stumbled, kneeling, holding his head in his hands as the pain tore through him. 

 

"Brother."

 

The voice was a holy sword, the weight of an archangel behind it. Castiel was barely aware of Dean's hands cupping his shoulders, the mans chin against the dark curls, a low, scared voice from Dean hissing out his name. It was a litany of a fear Dean was trying to keep hidden, the Winchester trying to wrap himself around Castiel as if to shield him. Then the litany changed, but only to call Sam's name. 

 

"Sammy!" Dean's voice was urgent, loud, a sharp yell in the silence of the Church. It needn't have been, Sammy was right beside him, dropping the book and trying to reach Castiel. 

 

"I heard you, Cas? Cas!" Sam hollered in the angel's face, but the bright azure eyes were out of it. "This is worse than last time, it's the archangel?"

 

Dean's grip on Cas tightened, the knuckles white and straining. "We gotta sort this, Sammy."


	2. Angel of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel comes back from his near unconscious state, but he's not alone. Who is the Archangel that calls himself the Angel of Despair? He doesn't show up on any textbooks, books, Bibles, scrolls, you name it, he wasn't on it. Castiel recognises him as one of the Old Ones, warming to his long lost angelic brethren in a way that makes Dean Winchester considerably less comfortable than he wants to be. He doesn't care, he doesn't, except he does. Is the Archangel Taren all he's cracked up to be? Or just another demon wearing gold wings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo!
> 
> I apologise for the long wait and promise there won't be such long waits in the future!

Dean's emerald eyes flashed between the barely conscious angel kneeling on the floor of the church and his brother. "CAS!" The angel stayed mostly out of it, the crystal blue eyes hazy and out of focus. The full lips were moving too fast in words Dean couldn't catch, Enochian barely mumbled. 

 

Castiel didn't see the opulent church in front of him, though on some level he could still hear Dean and Sam. He would hear Dean all his life, had heard him all his life, no matter what else was going on. And it was that - Dean's frantic, gruff voice cutting through the place he now found himself in that made him focus, straining against the dizzying brilliance he now found himself facing. 

 

"Hallo."

 

Castiel found himself still kneeling, looking up at an Archangel long lost to time and words, a pair of shadow dark eyes staring down at him impassively. That this one was an Archangel was beyond doubt, marked with the furious, glorious wings of the higher seraphs, pure ivory shot through with the brightest gold. He held a sword in one hand, if such a weapon could be called something as mundane as a sword. It was immense, a burning silver that flashed in Castiel's eyes as he stared. A large hand held the hilt, attached to the tall, broad frame of the Archangel. Hair as dark as midnight was swept back from a high forehead, one of the shadowed eyes slashed through with a scar that disfigured an otherwise handsome face. Cheekbones as sharp as knives cut through his face, full lips pouting slightly as he looked down at Castiel. "Brother," the angel repeated again. 

 

"Taren...you...we had news you were gone from us."

 

The imperious, impervious demeanour of the angel changed somewhat, his grip on the immense sword loosening and an easy smirk spreading through those full lips. "Obviously I haven't brother, come on, off your knees. You do not kneel to me, brother Archangel."

 

It took Castiel a moment for the words to process. It had been so long since anyone had referred to him as an Archangel, particularly one of his own lost for centuries. "I...it has been so long."

 

"It has, brother. I heard rumours that you were in the company of the Winchester brothers. I see that these rumours are confirmed."

 

Castiel stilled as he stood, the cerulean blue freezing. A tic in his jaw pulsed as he met the eyes of the other Archangel. "I will protect the Winchesters with my life," he snapped gruffly, making Taren give him that slow, easy smile again. The other angels' eyes remained their same pitch dark shade, impossible to tell whether it was malice or happiness dancing in them. 

 

"I have no doubt, friend. I also have no grudge with the Winchesters. They have protected you it seems when our own brethren failed to." Castiel gave a distinctly human-like shrug of agreement at this. It was true that his angel brethren were more often than not, not that pleased to see him and those that were, were not always full of the milk of kindness. 

 

"Then, forgive my rudeness brother, I am startled by your sudden appearance when I thought you lost for so long," Castiel replied. 

 

"And you want to know what the hell I'm doing popping up now and what I want?" Taren guessed, clicking long fingers. The space around them dissolved into an ornately decorated living room, low slung, well stuffed sofas in front of a roaring fire. Taren waved a hand dismissively to one of the sofas, suggesting Castiel should sit. He stood in front of the fire, warming large hands. He turned, the raven hair falling with the movement as he smiled slowly at Castiel. "I don't want to risk anything you have, believe me. It's a long story, do you have time?" Castiel found himself sinking into the plush velvet of the sofa, half nodding as he did so. 

 

"I do. Allow me to speak to the Winchesters. They will be concerned about me." 

 

"Please, let me come," Taren offered, "I can assure them I mean you no harm."

 

Castiel met his eyes, stared deep into the solid darkness presenting itself. "How can I trust you?"

 

Taren came again with that slow, easy smile spreading over the handsome face, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. "We have been together a long time, old friend. I would not jepoardise those you love, this I swear." He dipped the glorious wings Castiel's way in a gesture of submission. "I...I am lonely. The angels I left are not the same ones I have returned to." Castiel gave him a small smile at this, understanding the other angels confusion, the reluctance to engage with those who had never engaged. He nodded his head in agreement. 

 

Dean gave a violent sigh of relief as the clouded gaze of his angel became clear once more. "Cas, thank fu...I thought you'd gone walkabout," he sighed, sitting back on his knees. Castiel blinked, finding the emerald eyes of the man he'd saved so close to his own that it was difficult to concentrate. He forced himself to focus, grateful that as yet Taren had not materialised next to him, giving him time to explain to the worried faces of the brothers he loved most. 

 

"I haven't moved, much less gone walking," Cas replied, his brow furrowing. Dean's face relaxed into an amused grin, bright white teeth against the tanned skin. 

 

"And that's how I know you're back," he joked, before the jade of his eyes narrowed, searching over the handsome planes of the angels' face, the bright blue eyes, whiskers shadowing that strong jawline and the steady, warm gaze of Castiel. As if Castiel was always thankful to look at him, when so many other people had turned their faces away from Dean. Or if they stayed, like Dad, then their eyes were not so warm. "What was it? You okay?" Castiel's gaze grew warmer, almost uncomfortably warm at the concern. 

 

"I am fine. It...it is not what you think, I was not harmed. I...I met an old friend."

 

"Wait, Cas, you have friends?" Sam quipped, wanting to ease the sudden tension that snapped through the air, crackling like an aura around Dean. 

 

"Who is it?" Dean barked, before seeming to catch himself and coughing, "Angel? Demon? Is it the rogue angel we're hunting?"

 

"I am not sure if he is the one you are chasing," Castiel explained truthfully, "But he is an old friend, an Archangel of times long past. I do not know if he is recorded in your books; the Archangel Taren." Dean stared back at him, the emerald eyes flicking to his lips for a second before he shrugged. 

 

"Doesn't mean anything to me."

 

Sam frowned, scratching at his jaw. "The name doesn't sound familiar to me either, Cas, but I got some new sources to look at. Gimme a minute," he held up a finger as his other hand brought his phone close to his face. 

 

"We may not have a minute, he will be here any seco..." he noticed Dean's hand reaching for his gun immediately. "No, Dean, he is not a threat. I do not believe he is the one we are looking for. He is an old friend, he offers us assistance."

 

"An angel is offering us assistance without wanting something in return?" Dean cracked suspiciously, frowning. "Exactly how old friends are you?" 

 

"Centuries," Castiel said casually, making Sam look up with interest. "Dean, I do not believe he is a threat."

 

Dean's eyes narrowed further as they took in the trusting angel. Trouble with Castiel was he tended to believe the best in humanity, his brethren, everyone. Trouble with Dean was that he knew there wasn't any good. "Yeah, Cas, you've been wrong before buddy." He saw the hurt expression paint itself exquisitely across Castiel's eyes, hating himself for it. 

 

After a moment, when Sam shook his head at him and frowned, Castiel agreed. "Yes, yes I have been wrong before. If you do not wish it, I can..." He actually had no idea how he could reach Taren again, unless the Archangel summoned him or until he appeared. He did not show up in the mental map that decorated the inside of Castiel's mind. 

 

"What if Castiel wishes it?" A deep, rough voice sounded almost out of nowhere, making Sam jump. Dean's gun was in his hand before he had time to react, gesturing in the direction of the Archangel now standing next to Castiel. Sam swallowed as the other supernatural being folded magnificent wings against his spine, tilting a leonine head towards the pair of them. "What if Castiel wishes to see me? Does he have to run that by you boys too?" His voice was deep and melodious, carrying easily across the Church, with an edge of menace that somehow made the gold seem a little duller, the air a little colder. 

 

"No, of course not," Sam answered hurriedly, "Cas can do what he wishes."

 

"I'm just looking out for him," Dean barked, lowering the gun slightly but still not completely putting it away. He gripped it tightly, the knuckles white, staring at the tall, lithe Archangel standing at Castiel's side. Midnight eyes held his, looked him up and down in a suggestion of searching him through. Like Castiel, the feeling Dean got was one of acceptance, not finding him wanting. 

 

Taren said nothing, merely looked the hunter up and down, before turning his gaze on Castiel. "Will you make introductions, brother?" Dean's glare didn't move from the Archangel as he watched Castiel give another smile, this one looser, more relaxed than the last. His face brightened and eased, smoothing out into the relaxed expression Dean was familiar with. Familiar with it because he often watched it on Castiel's face when he thought the angel wasn't looking at him. Castiel was always looking at Dean, whether his eyes were open or not and the hunters' attentions did not go as unobserved as he thought they did. Dean hadn't seen him relax like this when he was talking to someone other than himself though, his lips thinning as he stared down now at the gun. So what? Cas could talk to all the angel brethren he wanted. Free will and all that. So why was this pissing him off all of a sudden?

 

"Of course," Castiel replied easily, "This is Dean Winchester and his brother, Samuel Winchester." 

 

"Sam," Sam replied, sticking out a bear paw for the other angel to take. "Cas said you're one of the old ones huh?" 

 

Taren looked greatly amused, a smirk tipping at the cheekbones. "Old is it, Castiel? My, my, have you checked a mirror lately old man?"

 

Castiel laughed, dipping his head forward, eyes crinkling into a smile. The rich sound filled the church for a moment as the cerulean eyes danced. "My physical appearance has not altered since raising Dean from Perdition," he explained with a slight confusion tangling in his words. Taren's dark eyes roamed over the broad, muscled form of the Angel of Thursday, a slight nod of his head, before he turned his attention back to Sam.

 

"Castiel is right, if not completely polite about it," he said warmly to Sam. "I am the Archangel Taren, the angel of despair."


End file.
